


Dance the Edge

by Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6270343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is the price of creating unknown beauty?  Mairon can sense those hidden boundaries, edging closer, and yet does not feel the fear he knows he should even when slowly leaving the walls behind.</p><p>Set before Mairon’s fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Following as a companion, of sorts, to my previous story _Fire That’s Closest Kept_ \- though you certainly do not have to read that one to read this! Set in the same timeline, so to speak, before Mairon’s fall/seduction to the dark, with Melkor constantly nearby to whisper in his ear.
> 
> Enjoy!

Mairon twisted a single silver ring around his finger, waiting for the gentle invitation he knew was about to come. Music and voices spilled around him, clear and bright and happy into the lasting twilit air. He turned his gaze upward, hoping to see twinkling starlight high above in the open sky, though the bowing branches of the tree whose shelter was giving their small party refuge did not allow the sight through.

A booming laugh brought his attention around again, and he looked over to see Aulë nodding enthusiastically with a story told by another Maia, sitting on the ground beside his stone bench. She leaned forward to give the conclusion - how a great fire had sparked just as she thought her work finished, causing her to start again - and the entire group joined in with their amusement.

Mairon smiled at the proper moment as glanced in his direction, recalling the memory for himself. He had been there at the time, and had contained the resulting blaze on his own while his only companion in the workroom scrambled to save whatever she had been crafting without offering assistance. He had not found the situation all that humorous, even looking back on it. The smile vanished rather quickly.

A slight breeze picked up, rustling the leaves overhead. He leaned back on his bench and lifted his face to it. The silver on his finger was comforting, as the Maiar around him chatted with their master, their words meaningless as they sought his favor. Mairon allowed himself to be dragged from his forge for these gatherings as often as Aulë suggested them, though keeping that small connection to his true joy sometimes seemed like an anchor, a thread to tie his soul to the place it belonged. He pulled ever so gently on the energy under his skin, heating it just so, enough for the silver to warm against him without the others noticing a change.

The music ebbed away, the Maia at the harp raising his hands to rest along the top of the carved spine. “I believe that is it for me, Master Aulë,” he said with a little chuckle, “unless you give me permission to take extra time on the hinges waiting for the forge tomorrow. My fingers are tiring.”

“No, no, of course. Pass your harp on to someone else!” Aulë looked around at his followers, sitting beside him in a loose circle, and his expectant eyes landed on Mairon - the invitation that always came. 

Mairon respectfully lowered his gaze, feeling everyone watching him now as well. “My apologies, Lord Aulë, I was hoping to return to work before the fires cooled.”

“You never were one for music, lad, were you?” Aulë asked kindly. He smiled, his words soft as he continued. “All the fire in you, I’d say. You are not content unless you are creating. A child after my own heart.” There was a pause, and Mairon raised his eyes to find his master’s face still open and warm. “Go on back to whatever is not giving your mind rest in the forge.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Mairon rose and dropped into a low bow, and Aulë waved him away with a laugh. “Take some fruit with you, Mairon, before you go! A gift for you all, from my dear wife. Tide you through your nightwatch with the fires.”

He bowed again, though Aulë was no longer looking in his direction as he backed away from the crowd and turned to leave. He paused for only a moment at the porcelain bowl, perched on an elegant pedestal table just outside the circle of Maiar and their master. It was filled with beautifully ripened fruit, and he carefully selected a perfectly shaped peach from the top, bringing it to his nose to inhale the deep floral scent. 

The path back to the halls was not a long one long, and he stepped forward up the hill, gaze lowered to watch his feet as he made his way into the sparse woods spotted with light from the great lamps overhead. Already, he was focused on rebuilding the flames, finding a perfect piece of metal from the scrap left on the pile -

“Surely you will collide with something, walking sightlessly as you are.”

Mairon jumped back off the path, breath catching in his throat as his head snapped up. A shadow, much deeper than those he had just emerged from under the trees, moved to his left, and he narrowed his eyes angrily as he recognized the figure leaning against a slender birch as if watching for prey. “Why must you startle me like that!” he spat, quickly gathering himself again.

Melkor stepped onto the path, blocking his way, and Mairon had to resist the urge to take several more backward from him. They had only spoken a handful of times - nearly all of them unexpected and uninvited by Mairon himself - and each encounter left a small ache in his stomach. He glanced over his shoulder, down the path he had come, and could only just see the top of the tree where his master was still sitting. Their voices reached his ears with the breeze. They were so close, only a single cry and someone would come. But something turned his gaze around as another peal of laughter came up the rise of the hill, and he looked instead at his companion once more, the thought to call out slowly leaving his mind.

“Because it _is_ fun, you must admit,” Melkor answered the question he’d asked, even if he hadn’t expected any genuine response. “Watching you jump, or hit your fingers with that massive hammer. Yes,” he mused, tapping at his chin thoughtfully. “I think I prefer startling you to - well, I have not attempted any other approach yet, have I?” 

Mairon frowned, eyeing him warily. “What do you want?”

“What, no pleasantries? Will you not inquire into my wellbeing, or can I not ask after yours?” He made a tsk-ing sound with his tongue, and Mairon suddenly felt again as though he should call for Aulë before Melkor could speak another word - and yet still he did not. He held his ground, lifting his chin slightly in a show of confidence that was not quite a lie. 

“Very well, very well,” Melkor said stiffly, though he smiled slyly just the same, one corner of his mouth lilting upward, and slid a hand into the lining inside his cloak. “I have a rather unique gift for you. Would you like to see it?”

Whatever Mairon had been expecting from this exchange, that was very far from anything he assumed would be said. He felt Melkor’s eyes on him, a burning weight across his face, and before he could respond one way or the other, Melkor held out a large stone.

Mairon tucked the peach still in his grasp into a pocket on his robe and accepted the stone without hesitation, taking it into his hands and turning it over very slowly. The piece was rough and uncut, but he could still see thick, beautiful veins of shimmering reds and brilliant oranges, subtle blues and sunny yellow, running together and calling to him through his palms. He lifted a finger to trace down one of the veins, watching the plays of color dully refracting the light. A good cut, a true polish, and this... _this_ …

“A fire opal,” Melkor explained needlessly. “I found it deep under a mountain very far from here. All of my wanderings in this world, and I discover such beautiful things.”

Mairon could still feel those heavy eyes on him, and he found now that he did not mind as he had even a minute ago. This precious piece of earth in his hands, waiting to be cared for, meant more to him than anything else in that breath of time. “Are you giving this to me freely?” he asked steadily, finally looking up to meet the cold blue gaze with his own. “Or must I give you something in return?”

“I would not say _freely_ , necessarily, though the price…”

Melkor reached out and plucked the peach from the pocket where Mairon had placed it. He held the fruit up, nodding his head once. Marion stared at him, nearly dumbfounded by his boldness. “The price is not a large one. This is all I ask for in return. It is difficult, really, to find anything sweet as these outside the making of my kindred spirits. And, of course,” he added with a small, knowing grin, “I would like to know what you will make with the opal.”

“I…” It took another moment for Mairon to find his voice again, and he glanced from the peach down to the stone held tightly in his hands before continuing. He could feel a faint thrumming of life inside it, waiting to be fully revealed, and he brushed his thumb over a jagged edge. The finished piece was already forming in his mind, and he could not help the little smile tugging at his lips as it came more readily. “A pendant, perhaps, with silver filigree around the cut stone to make the band of the necklace.”

“And will you wear it?”

“I - well, no, everything we make is given to the entire collective of us all. It will be enjoyed by everyone here.” His eyes lowered to the opal again, taking in the sharp colors gleaming against his skin. A sting of regret pierced through him and was gone.

“And yet the ring you wear, just there on your finger -”

“Is nothing,” Mairon replied sharply, cutting the deceitfully calm words off before they could go any further. “A band of scrapped silver from another project. It is the only one I have.”

“I see.” Melkor was silent for a moment, and again Mairon could feel his eyes roaming over his face. “Then take this as the third condition of my gift - you must keep what you create with it, and wear whatever you make as your own. You should glitter just greatly as the fire you wield. A pity, to let a creature so beautiful as yourself go to waste.”

Mairon scoffed, but he looked down at the stone one last time. That thrumming, pulsing so contently in his palm, spoke just as loudly as the other’s words, and after a long few seconds breathing with the opal held between his fingers, he murmured softly, “Fine. I will keep whatever piece I make.”

“And wear it?”

“If a proper situation arises,” he whispered, finding his thoughts already taken by the greatness of the notion. “Yes, I will wear it.”

“Then it’s yours,” Melkor said with a toothy smile, and Mairon heard what sounded like pride in the simple statement. He looked up, not surprised this time to see those dark blue eyes still staring at him. “Shall I bring you more findings from my grand adventures?” he asked, the question pulled with something very heavy that did not go unnoticed.

“No,” Mairon replied, thumb moving over the curves of the stone - _his_ stone, as it was now - as he stepped forward and moved around the blocked path to continue toward the halls. “I do appreciate the opal, and thank you for it, though I do not need any more treasures from you.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am, quite.” He glanced back briefly to see Melkor silently watching his retreat and scowled, letting out a frustrated puff of breath through his nose. “Enjoy the peach.”

This had been a ploy of some sort, he knew it had been. For reasons he could not fathom - nor even wanted to - Melkor wished him to take this forsaken stone, to create something with it. But, as Mairon turned the gorgeous piece over in his hands, feeling every dip and rough-hewn edge as he walked quickly back to the forge to begin working, he also knew very well that he did not care nearly as much as he should.

For truly, every craft of such beauty had its price, did it not?


End file.
